


trust building exercise

by ladylaufehson, sexualthorientation (sexyscholar)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse of the word "brother" probably, Dubious ~magical~ objects (just roll with it okay?), Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Whipping, italics abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2084781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylaufehson/pseuds/ladylaufehson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyscholar/pseuds/sexualthorientation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you trust me, brother?"</p>
<p>"I...I am trying."</p>
<p>"I suppose that is more than I’ve deserved."</p>
            </blockquote>





	trust building exercise

**Author's Note:**

> so this one time, we started crying (again!) about thor: the dark world and since smut is the glue with which to patch together a wounded heart, we started filling up each other's ask boxes with porny headcanons involving bottom!Thor (because bottom!Thor is a beautiful thing) and dubiously conceived ~magical~ objects. 
> 
> and then it became this thing.

Thor lays a hand on Loki’s hip, letting his thumb drag a lazy circle over the sharp point of his pelvic bone. As much as he has come to expect - and love, a little - Loki's venom and vitriol, there is something undeniably compelling about this less-barbed version of his brother. After centuries of playfulness and pain, of treachery and forgiveness — Thor considers this new kind of kinship with his brother a gift, hard-won and well-deserved.

The whip in his hand is of Loki’s design: pretty and thin and deceptively _durable_ , made from twining loops of silver and gold. Its handle, a band of soft, worn leather, is engraved with a runic script that he can’t quite decipher. The dwarf who forged it had mumbled something about ‘old seidr in treacherous hands.’ Thor wanted to ask what he’d meant, but the withering look that Loki had given the little old man was a clear indication that too much curiosity could kill more than a cat.

Besides, Loki and he were trying to _trust each other now_. Questioning Loki’s reasoning - at least outright - might come across like accusing, and Loki had brought him along to watch the whip being made. Why would he bother if he was up to something?

_Because the best lies are wrapped around a core of truth_ , he thought traitorously, before snuffing it out with the sheer power of his will.

Things were going to be different now, _better_ now. They had to be.

And so neither he nor the dwarf uttered a word while the whip was being made. He didn’t question the necessity for the locks of hair that they each dropped into the crucible of churning molten metal. He didn’t question the mad little grin on Loki’s face as the thick, fire-orange liquid was poured into the molding to cool. And when he asked, “What does it do, brother?” and Loki simply leaned into him and answered, “You’ll see soon enough” -- well, Thor wasn’t going to question that either.

Looking at the whip closely now, Thor thinks it looks rather like two snakes mating, twisting around one another and holding tight. Its links are light and warm  -- no, _warming_ \-- in his palm as feels some of his power draining from him, though it isn’t enough to cause any real alarm. He watches as tiny tendrils of lightning from his fingertips are absorbed into the whip and a small crackle of electricity, barely more than a static charge, sparks through the links. “What is this thing, Loki?”

“A very clever plaything.” His brother, resting on his side, props his head up with his hand, sighs. “Imbued with a very old spell -- it will channel the elemental seidr of the person who has possession of it. A bit like that _carpentry tool_ you’re always swinging about.”

“You only speak of Mjölnir in such a way because you cannot wield her yet--”

“Cannot wield it _ever_ , Thor. I realize that you continue to delude yourself in regards to my worth, but I do not. Mjölnir will never be mine -- I have accepted that. Because,” he sits up and strokes the side of Thor’s face, “I have _you_ instead. There is immeasurable power in that.” He eases back down to the bed and rolls from his side to his stomach. “But I digress. And we have _plans_ ,” he says, gesturing to the sparking links in Thor hand. “Surely you haven’t forgotten?”

Thor shakes his head. “No.” And it’s true; he remembers what Loki asked for -- it seemed simple enough at the time. _‘I want you to whip me, Thor’_ he had said. _'I trust you to hurt me just enough.'_ But this was all before he found out what the whip can do, and now he is a little afraid. “I haven’t forgotten.” He clenches his jaw and gets up from the bed, wrapping the better part of the chain around his fist and biting back the impulse to ask if Loki is alright with all of... _this_ , because he already knows the answer: Loki asked for -- no, Loki _demanded_ this; he will not take kindly to Thor stalling now. He has a task ahead, and Thor will not falter.

The length of the chain left dangling is almost glowing white -- currents of white electricity running through it, and Thor watches it, mesmerized. 

“Should I give you two a moment alone,” Loki asks, lifting his ass off the bed and swaying it from side to side, “or may I play too?"

"Jealous?”

“Perpetually. Now get _on_ with it-- _oh_!"

Thor succinctly shuts Loki up with a quick strike -- the chain whips across his lower back with a solid crack. “Have care how you speak. Or you’ll get nothing at all. Do you understand?”

Loki rubs his face against the pillow and nods, and Thor decides that’s clear enough for him. He lays into his brother with the electrified chain over and over, leaving pink crisscrossed welts on his back and backside. It’s a challenging head space for Thor, deliberately inflicting pain on his brother this way, but judging by the way Loki is clutching his pillow, whimpering and writhing and gasping for more, he reckons he must be making a decent go of it.  

"Turn over," Thor says, following it up with an especially hard lash when Loki doesn't immediately do as he's told. Thor is a quick study.

When Loki does obey, he does it quickly, flipping his body on the mattress. His cock already stiff and wet in the charged air, the scent of ozone heavy around them.

"Lift your arms above your head and take hold of the headboard." His voice is low, but the tone is clear -- he will brook no argument.

This time, Loki complies fully; he slides his arms up the mattress and curls his hands around two bars of the wrought iron. His brother is _posing for him_ , Thor knows, arching his back, stretching his pale legs and pointing his long toes.

“You’re lovely.”

Loki looks up at him, pink-skinned and sweating, twisting in the sheets. "What will you do with me _now_ , I wonder,” he asks, giving him a toothy grin.

“I’m never sure what to do with you, Loki.” Thor's powerful physique casts a large shadow, wavering in the flickering lamplight, over his brother's body as he lowers the chain, the end hovering over the tip of Loki’s prick. “But I often work it out, in time.”

Loki looks down toward his own crotch and nods quickly. “Yes, brother,” he says, and pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “Do it.”

So he does.

The metal bats against the slick head and Loki reacts beautifully: his hands tighten their hold around the bars of the headboard and his thighs spread, all while letting loose a string of filthy sounds and filthier words.

After a few more buzzing drags of the chain along Loki’s shaft, Thor is smugly pleased with his ingenuity - Loki isn't the only clever Odinson, after all - but before he can revel in his success, a pair of arms snake around him  from behind, sliding into the spaces at the inside of his elbows and pinning his arms in place.

The Loki on the bed vanishes in a shimmer of light, and the real one - the deceptively _strong_ one - bites the side of Thor's neck with very real teeth. Thor yelps, more from confusion than any real pain.

Loki snaps the chain from Thor's loosened grip. “Are you ever not going to fall for that,” he baits; Thor doesn't bite. "Take hold of your elbows."

"What trickery is this?”

Loki clucks his tongue near Thor's ear. "And when have I ever been _agreeable_? I thought we were turning a corner, brother. I thought we were trusting each other now." Loki licks into the intricate hollow of Thor's ear canal. "Have you changed your mind? Have you given up on me already?"

Thor sets his jaw and does as Loki says, pulling his arms up and gripping onto his own elbows. "I...will never give up on you, Loki," he says, swallowing hard, though his mouth has come over dry.

"Some might say that _that_ is part of our inherent problem," Loki quips, and then the chain is being looped around his forearms. Thor can feel the links sliding against his skin -- _over, under, over, under_ \-- until the binding finally comes to a stop around his wrists.

Thor shifts a little, testing the strength of the bonds, and is rewarded - not with electricity - but with sensation of iced water sliding, curling around the links, turning into a biting frost.

“Ah. So _that’s_ what it does,” Loki says, the approval in his voice is unmistakable. "Lovely. Now. On the bed."

"How--"

"Why, just as you had planned to have me, dear brother. On your back."

Thor scoffs at that.  "As I had planned? I seem to recall, quite clearly, that it was _your_ idea."

"Mmm. It was, and then I changed my mind."

"Of course."

Thor turns to face Loki and then sits on the bed, shifting and twisting - rather ungainly - his massive body until he's reasonably sure he's far down enough to lie on his back without braining himself on the headboard.

Loki kneels on the bed beside him and places two fingers at the hollow of Thor's throat, slides them across his collarbone, and then down Thor’s chest, leaving a thin trail of ice in their wake.

He employs both hands then, teasing at Thor's nipples, already peaked against the open air, and soon, they too are coated with a layer of frost. Thor shivers, and not only from the cold.

The fingers pause under Thor’s ribs, and Loki leans forward, curling his tongue around one of Thor's iced nipples. Thor arches from the bed, straining shoulders be damned, before flopping back down and moaning at the odd, wild sensation of heat and cold mingled together.

Loki looks up at Thor as he eases down further still, mouthing around his navel.

Thor writhes uselessly on the bed, hoping to rub his cock - hard and aching - against Loki. But his brother shifts up abruptly, and it's no good.

“Something wrong, brother?”

Thor shakes his head. Loki seems determined to drag this out; he can play along for a while.

“Well, I do. I'm thirsty," he announces out of nowhere, gestures to Thor’s stomach and Thor watches, bewildered, as a pool of foamy gold-tinted liquid begins to fountain up from his navel, creating a little pond that ripples but never spills. The scent of it -- wheaty and spiced -- gives it away. It’s _mead_.

Thor has always known that Loki's sorcery is virtually unrivaled, but he can't mask his astonishment at the tricks he's playing tonight.

"Odin's beard," he whispers before he can think better of it.

Loki rests his chin on Thor’s pelvic bone. "If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to leave your father out of this." He rakes his front teeth against Thor’s skin hard enough to leave it hot and stinging - which feels _oh so much better than it should_ \- and he bucks his hips, urging Loki to go lower.

His efforts bear fruit, but not precisely the way Thor anticipates.

Instead of more biting, Loki changes course, darting out his tongue, and licking his way south. He makes quite a show of it, too: painting broad stripes across Thor's muscled abdomen with his tongue, humming and slurping and sighing along the way, until he comes to where mead has pooled in the shallow basin of his navel. There, Loki presses his lips to the wet skin and sucks before lifting his head to gaze at his brother -- alcohol dripping from his greedy mouth and running down his chin and neck with wet streaks of wild black hair plastered to his cheeks. He looks as if he’s coming unhinged. It’s _beautiful_.

"What a lovely fountain you’d make. I should set you out on my banquet table."

“Loki…” Thor growls, struggling against the chain.

His brother licks his lips and takes to the pond of mead again, drinks deep of it, then sidles back up to Thor and pinning his legs on either side of the thunder god’s broad shoulders, mounting him and petting Thor's neck like one might soothe a prized stallion. Thor’s cock jerks hard at the comparison and he makes a note that he will have to think - later, much later - on why _that_ particular concept is so arousing.

Thor is pulled back into the moment when Loki tilts his hips toward his face, sliding the glossy tip of his cock over Thor’s mouth, again and again. Thor takes the hint eagerly and parts his lips, pulling against the chain and straining his neck to try and suck, or at least lick, at the flared head, but Loki, the ever-contrary creature that he is, scoots away with a smile that isn't quite _right_.

Without warning, he lunges forward again, taking firm hold of Thor's jaw with long, thin fingers. Thor opens his mouth to say... something that no longer matters, because Loki’s mouth is pressed to his and mead is flowing between them. The tastes of grain and spice and berry and Loki are splashing on his tongue, running down his throat, and Thor has no choice but to swallow - not that he minds, it's his favorite - lest he gag.

When the mead is gone, Loki proceeds to nip and suck on Thor’s lower lip, leaving it throbbing, and nicks a small cut down the middle in the process. When a dot of blood wells from it, Loki swipes at his with his finger and shows it to Thor; a tiny splotch of claret against his creamy skin.

“Open,” he says, gesturing to Thor’s mouth, then dabs the blood on his tongue when Thor heeds. The taste of sweet mead mingled with the metallic salt of his own blood is intoxicating.

He lets out a whimpering moan as Loki dips back down. The pool of mead is receding, but there’s just enough left to splash onto his fingers and shove them into Thor’s mouth.

“Suck.” Loki commands, and Thor obliges, swirling his tongue over, under, anywhere he can get around the digits, seidr sparking in his mouth. Loki runs his lips over Thor’s stomach, not quite touching, but close enough that it makes his nerves buzz.

His mouth ghosts over the bristly hair around his cock, and Thor twists again, his shackles of ice now forgotten, still trying to nudge against something, _anything_. Loki laughs, and Thor swears he can feel it sing through his entire bloodstream. “Is there somewhere else you would prefer my mouth?”

When Thor answers, he certainly doesn't plan on the needy _whine_ that escapes around Loki’s wet fingers.

“I will, dear brother, interpret that as a ‘yes,’” Loki says and opens his lips over Thor’s straining erection and takes it in. The head of it catches, briefly, against the roof of Loki’s mouth, but his brother doesn't let that stop him, continuing to work his lips around Thor’s girth until nearly the entire length of it is in his mouth, the head within the tight confines of his throat. Loki hums approvingly once he has it down, and Thor shuts his eyes and howls - not only at the sensation of uncountable ripples moving against it, but at the knowledge that this -- his cock lodged partially down his brother’s throat -- is something that Loki _wants_.

When Thor regains enough of his wits to open his eyes again, he looks down to find Loki staring back up at him, pulling his mouth back up the shaft and licking at it with the flat of his tongue. His teary eyes are almost black now, blinking up at him under long lashes that sweep against his cheeks. Loki looks perfect, feels perfect, _is perfect_ , and Thor longs to tell him precisely that, but his brother pushes the two fingers in his mouth a little deeper.

“Isn't there something you’re supposed to be doing,” he reminds him, none too gently, before going back to alternately sucking hard on the head of his prick - incorporating his teeth at times - and flicking his tongue along the shaft.

Thor is an aching, squirming, sweating mess. Loki’s lips and tongue and, oh fuck, even his sharp little teeth feel extraordinary, but he isn’t devoting enough consistency to any one tactic to bring Thor to orgasm. All he can do is whimper and continue to lick around the slowly pruning digits in his mouth, so he does. With gusto.

Enough that, apparently, Loki notices. “You’re managing quite well with that, brother,” he says after pulling off of the crown of Thor’s dick with an exaggerated pop. “I’m impressed.” He takes his fingers out of Thor’s mouth and lets them rest on his swollen lips.

“Loki,” Thor croaks.

Loki takes his hand back, slides the wet index and middle fingers over his own mouth, and then they’re moving down between Thor’s thighs and… Thor shudders when the fingertips reappear, pressing against his clenching hole, but not entering, which feels a lot more like torture. “I’m listening?”

Dragging it out is one thing; this is maddening. Thor tugs at his binds, but in his present position, it’s useless. Unless of course, he breaks the whip, which he won’t. “Do something.”

“Hmm. Alright then.” Loki’s fingers swipe over Thor’s anus, and then pulls them away as he instructs Thor to raise his knees. Thor complies, pulling his legs up and bending them at the knees and planting his feet against the mattress for some sort of purchase. Loki sets his hands on the backs of Thor’s thighs and applies a little weight, easing his legs back toward his chest and spreading them open, his feet dangling helplessly in the air.

The new position puts a strain on his back and craned neck and, as badly as he wants to see where Loki is going with this, he lies back down to relieve the pressure. “What are you doing?” Thor’s voice has a shakiness he rather wishes it didn't.

_“Something_. Isn't that what you wanted,” Loki asks.

He did. _Does._ But he’s not prepared for the warm, wet _something_ tickles at the furled muscle lining his hole, and Thor lets out a wholly unmanly yip. “W-what--” he tries to ask, but the wetness is there again, this time tracing a circle over his entrance. It takes him a moment -- a stupidly long moment -- to realize that Loki's face is buried between his thighs and the now-hot, slick thing working -- _oh gods oh fuck_ \-- its way inside of his body is Loki’s _tongue_ and Thor lets out a long, low moan. “Loki--Loki, oh…”

The tongue licks in deeper, slippery and insistent, then begins to dart in and out of him, quickly degrading his words to little more than babbling. His erection, despite the lack of direct stimulus, has not waned. If anything, he’s harder now, his length arcing and splattering tiny drops of fluid over his jittery stomach muscles, and he needs to be touched. “Loki, please.” He licks desperately at his lips. “You've got to--I need--”

When Loki pulls back, the loss of his talented tongue is nothing short of alarming, and Thor squawks in protest.

Loki pulls himself back and kneels between Thor's spread and shaking legs, rubbing the caps of his knees in soothing circles. "Do you trust me, brother?"

The question strikes too close to memories he'd rather not think of -- of broken promises and lies and betrayals -- but Thor elects to push past that for now. "I...I am trying."

Thor braces for hurt, for indignation. But instead, Loki merely gives him a smile -- a real one, lopsided and small, like the ones they used to share before they allowed arrogance and jealousy to break them into halves. "I suppose that is more than I've deserved."

“Perhaps...we could speak of that another time?”

“Agreed.” Loki looks down at Thor’s erection. “There are more pressing matters at hand, aren't there? So, what should,” he runs his palm over the head, “we do about this?”

Thor knows what he wants. He wants Loki's tongue licking into him again, melting him from the inside. But he doesn't know how to ask for such a thing, so he tries his best to get the point across by pushing his legs farther apart, and hopes that his brother will get the gist.

“Ah, that.” He lifts his right hand, then spits on the middle finger hard enough that Thor can hear the liquid splatter. He takes the slick digit and reaches down between Thor's thighs to ease it into his tight hole. "You enjoyed that, hmm?”

Thor keens at the intrusion, at the _finger in his ass_ , tipping his head back against the pillow and nods.

Loki presses deeper, crooking his finger and grazing a spot within Thor that has him seeing colors behind his closed eyes. "Yes, Loki, yes."

When his eyes open again, Loki is hovering over him, braced by his left arm while the right lies hot between their bodies, his finger still sliding and twisting inside him. He's smiling, but something is different - an edge that wasn't there before. He looks as wrecked as Thor feels, and Thor takes satisfaction in the notion that his brother is in as deep in this as he is.

Loki finally slips out of him, ignoring the plaintive whimper that Thor gives, and crawls up to plant himself in Thor’s lap. “Can you lean up for me?”

Thor does the best he can, creating a wedge of space for Loki to slip his arms underneath him and pull him forward. With his back exposed again, Loki begins to unravel the whip wound around his forearms. “You’re doing so well, Thor,” he whispers against the side of his mouth. “So well.”

The whip finally loosens and Thor wriggles his arms free; they fall at his sides like limp, heavy weights. Loki sets his hands on Thor’s shoulders and massages as Thor rolls them, one and the other, working strength back into them. Loki is a lovely weight in his lap: warm and damp. His cock is trapped alongside Thor’s, and when he lifts his arms to envelope Loki in them, the pressure is delicious.

Though he’s relatively certain he’s performed admirably so far, Thor has felt a little out of his element in all this power-playing, but this? This is familiar. Familiar and lovely and precisely what he needs.

Loki must think so, too. He moans heartily when Thor kisses him, licking the seam of Thor’s lips until they open and let him in. It isn't long before the kiss turns possessive. Feral. Loki is snarling into Thor’s mouth, clawing his fingers into sweaty blond hair and pulling. Thor can taste everything in Loki’s kiss - mead, sweat, blood, _himself_ \- while his big hands steal down Loki’s back to grip his ass, spreading him a little and tugging him closer still. Saliva pulls between them in thin, glossy strings and they grind against one another, both of them moaning and gasping and sucking as they fuck with their mouths.  

It is Loki who breaks the kiss -- rather rudely, in Thor’s opinion -- pulling off of his mouth and sliding out of his grasp. "On your hands and knees,” he says, and wipes of his kiss-swollen mouth with the back of a hand.

Thor’s mind sputters, misfires. He can’t seem to find a working gear to shift into, and the words never form in his head. When he doesn't react quickly enough to suit Loki’s taste, a hard pinch to the inside of his thigh drives the point home quite effectively. "Ouch! What in Hel was that for?"

"Simply making sure you’re still awake. You looked...dazed for a moment. Now then, hands and knees.” Loki claps his hands once. “Chop, chop, big brother. Or do you need a moment?”

Thor remembers what an _imp_ his brother can be, and he would scoff if he weren't so aroused. "That won't be necessary, _little_ brother."

" _Then get to it_."

It takes a moment for Thor to coordinate his limbs -- his muscles are shaking and his joints feel like water -- but he finally manages it and sets his hands and knees into the damp mattress. He looks back to Loki. "You finally have me where you want me, brother," he says.

Loki sets a warm, sticky palm on Thor's backside. "That I do, brother. It's quite thrilling, to see you bent for me. Now, face forward; I want you only to feel."

Thor, once again, does as he's told. A small part of him recognizes that he should be angry with himself for this, for agreeing to Loki's whims without a fight.

But when he feels the mattress dip behind him, Loki's hands on the either cheek, spreading him gently, and a shock of pleasure hits him at the base of his spine, forcing a soft but heavy gasp out of him...Thor finds that he cares little for what he _should_ be.

Mercifully, surprisingly -- because when can _merciful_ ever be said of his brother? -- Loki addresses the matter straight away: his tongue is hot and slick moving over his hole. Lightly at first, but it quickly gives over to something more intentioned, pushing in and sliding out of him with increasing speed.

Thor's speech is devolving to little more than grunts: gasping, heated sounds spilling from his mouth. He begins to rock on all fours, pushing back against Loki's tongue, all the while chanting for more, more, _more_.

Loki hums, nose and mouth all pressed against his sensitive skin, wriggling and wet, and Thor cries his brother's name out loud.

To his horror, Loki stops. "No. No," he pleads.

"Look at you, the mighty Thor. Who knew you would break so beautifully?"

Thor is beyond such jabs now. His body is taut and aching with the need to come, and he will take his release in whatever way he can get it. "Please."

"What is it, Thor?" Loki asks as he leans forward, rests the full weight of his torso against Thor's back. His fingers skim around to the front of Thor's broad chest and find the hard peaks of his nipple, scraping at them with sharp nails. Thor jerks, then bows his back in pleasure, thrilling in the way Loki's body dips with his and his cock twitches against his thighs. "What do you want," Loki says, teeth scraping at his shoulder.

"Everything. Anything." Thor is babbling. He doesn't care.

"Mmm. As much as I would love to spear you open on my cock-"

Thor nods frantically, and Loki hums. "But I think we should work up to that, wouldn't you agree?" When Thor mewls a pitiful _no_ , Loki speaks over him. "Do not fret. I have something else in mind."

Still laying on top of Thor, he leans to the small table and lays his fingers in the bowl of sandalwood oil Thor had planned to use on Loki; the plan that, Thor can say now with certainty, has gone _delightfully_ pear-shaped.

"Tighten your thighs."

Thor nods and shuffles on his knees until they're pressed together, hoping his interpretation of Loki's request is the right one. Loki tugs the golden skin of Thor's shoulder between his teeth, not hard enough to be a true bite,  and rewards him a murmured, 'good boy.'

The hand moves between their bodies; warm, oily fingers cup his heavy balls and massage them gently before pushing between his thighs, slicking the skin with a coat of oil.

"Loki--what is--what are you doing?"

“Hush.”

Behind him, Thor hears the familiar slap of skin on wet skin, of Loki stroking himself, and something hovering between excitement and fear clenches in his belly. He does as he’s told, and bites his lips to keep from speaking.

"So obedient." Loki's breathing is quickening, as well as the slap slap slap of the hand on his cock behind him. "What else could I make you do for me? The mind _boggles_ at the possibilities..."

Thor would agree. His mind might have protested (a little) in the beginning, but his body, it seems, has always been on board for this, and now he can’t imagine anything he’d deny his brother: affection, adoration, obedience...even his own humiliation. All seem a small price when compared to the want Loki has set coursing through his veins.

When he feels the head of Loki's prick nudge against the slippery skin of his inner thighs and then push between them, Thor is initially dismayed -- what pleasure can he hope to take from this? -- but when Loki changes his angle slightly, pushing upward on each thrust, and the shaft of his cock drags hotly against Thor's balls, his worries are put to rest, at least a little.

It isn't long before Loki picks up his pace, fucking the narrow space between Thor's thighs and whispering his name over and over. "Thor. My brother. Mine. All mine."

As Thor's focal point narrows to thoughts of nothing but Loki - the smack of his thighs slapping hard against his ass, the veined shaft throbbing insistently between his wet thighs, and the building heat roiling in his own belly - he realizes that he can only agree with his brother. Be it in brotherhood, in anger, in war, or now, in lust and something very much like love, he has _ever_ belonged to Loki. "Yours," he murmurs. "Always."

Loki's control starts to slip. Only a little at first - a thrust out of sync here, a choked gasp there - but then it begins to crumble away like old brick. His hands skitter up from his hips to the small of his back - nails biting into the skin - fucking faster and knocking Thor hard enough that his elbows give way, and he tips forward -- face first -- into the pillows beneath him.

One of Loki's hands lifts from his back, curls around Thor's prick and squeezes, sending white hot pleasure through every nerve. Thor cries out once, then rubs his sweaty face against the cool linen sheets.

In a brief moment of stunning clarity, Thor imagines the sight of them, rutting against each other like wild beasts in the grips of a heat. The thought burns away, though, as the grip around switches from squeezing to stroking, and Thor can feel fluid running down his thighs as they work together, like a gear and cog, to bring each other to release. Loki's thrusts are coming faster, the drag of his cock a blistering burn between his legs as the oil wears away, and Thor loves every single second of it, mindlessly sucking and licking and gnawing at his own forearm while he meets each of Loki's pushes with one of his own.

The sounds of their sex grow louder; it echoes and rumbles throughout the chamber -- if anyone passed through the corridor beyond they would no doubt hear everything, not that Thor cares. The only things that matter right now are Loki's hand pulling his cock at breakneck speed and the low, thick sounds that Thor has come to recognize as warning, that his brother is quickly reaching his climax. He tenses the muscles in his thighs, hoping that it will give that _little bit more_ and be the thing that topples Loki over.

It does.

There's a sharp-sounding intake of air, as if Loki has been taken by surprise, and then spurts of hot, thick cum are wetting his thighs and scrotum. He flops on top of Thor, almost painfully, and mouths at the shell of his ear. His hips are still moving, using the seed splattered between Thor's thighs as a crude lubricant to fuck through the last of his orgasm in uneven little stutters.

"Next time brother, I _will_ fuck you, since you seem to crave it so," he promises, though he sounds breathless, as the hand on Thor's length twists and pulls, the stroking helped along by the early spend dribbling from the head of his prick. Sighs turn to whimpers turn to moans when Loki's free hand pushes back between his thighs, slipping around in the warm, wet cum, and then a finger -- maybe two, Thor isn't sure -- is back in his ass, pushing up to the knuckle and spreading him open.

"Can you feel that, Thor? The way you pull me in? You'll take my cock much the same - greedily, like a filthy little whore. The whore-king of Asgard, on bended knee," Loki chuckles at that - because he's always been his own best audience - before continuing, "made _ergi_ for his worthless little brother.”

Thor will have words with Loki about his _worthlessness_ later; for now, he chooses to direct most of his focus to the immense pressure building at the base of his spine.

“Brought low...brought so low, and all for me. Only for me.” Loki turns his wrist and something gets brushed inside, someplace deep and strange and painful and good; the tension that’s been building inside of Thor finally snaps - and then he’s coming, shutting his eyes and screaming and spasming as seed pumps out of him so hard that he's sure his soul is being pulled out in the process and soaking into the sheets.

Loki slows the hand around his prick, milking the remaining weaker spurts of cum as they dribble out of him. "Very well done, my king," he rasps in Thor's heated ear. The finger(s) slide out of him, catching briefly on the furled ring coated with now-tacky spend before it's completely gone. It leaves Thor feeling mostly relieved...and a little bereft.  Loki sits up and back all at once, and Thor collapses - his knees giving in and sliding out - gracelessly on the mattress.

"I," Thor wets his chapped mouth with a slow roll of his tongue between his lips, "I’m" --  open, loved, sore, spent -- "tired," he answers finally.

Loki doesn't respond for a moment, merely humming as he stretches out and faces him, sliding one long leg between his thicker ones and curling his foot under one of Thor's calves. "I'm sure you are, brother -- after calling a storm such as that."

Thor's heavy eyelids flutter open at that. "What do you mean?"

"The window.  Observe, Thor."

Thor lifts his even heavier-feeling head to do as Loki says, and sees that, true enough, a steady rain is coming down in sheets against the glass and drenching the balcony beyond it. "It's only a bit of rain, Loki," he says, shrugging a little.

"Now it is. The splintered elm outside the veranda would beg to argue its severity a while ago." Loki laughs out loud this time. "Surely you noticed?"

Thor rolls to his side and raises up properly this time. It only takes a few seconds to see what Loki means. The old elm tree that has been living there for ages is broken. Pieces of its blanched wood - reminding him, unsettlingly, of bone - lay on the floor of the veranda. The shards of wood are smoking.

"I...did that?"

Loki reaches out and runs a long-fingered hand through Thor's hair. "You did that."

Thor pulls a face, embarrassed. "I did not realize."

"Don't dwell on it, Thor. Asgard's people have weathered worse," Loki assures him. “It has been a dry summer -- they’ll praise this deluge, as they praise everything you do. But I think the truly important thing here is that I brought you to such _abandon_ that you didn't even notice." He's smiling again, the smug bastard. "I won’t forget that."

Thor lies back down on his side. Runs a large thumb against the point of Loki's chin. "You would not be my brother if you did otherwise. But make no mistake, we will come back to that...other matter."

"Oh?”

“Your ingenious little toy, brother. You seemed to be enjoying it immensely until you decided to be contrary and alter the rules.”

Loki merely nods. "I would not be your brother if I did otherwise.”

Thor reaches up and tucks a stray, damp lock of black hair behind Loki’s ear. “And when I have my way, it’ll be as if an early winter has befallen Asgard.”

“You stupid, reckless, cocksure oaf--”

He shuts his brother up with a kiss on the mouth, light and soft. When Loki endeavors to make it something _else_ , with persistent tongue and greedy little nips of his teeth, Thor pulls back, offering a sleepy, lopsided grin.

Loki’s eyebrows furrow. "Idiot."

"I love you too, Loki."

Without another word, Thor lifts a big arm and lays it over his brother, wrapping it under him and tugging him close.

Loki huffs, but he snuggles into Thor all the same. When his sharp nails scratch into his side, Thor winces, but doesn't lessen his hold.

No...Loki will never be compliant. Never docile, and certainly never agreeable.

Thor takes an odd kind of comfort in that; it's something he can trust.

And for him? For now? That's good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> [mona](http://sexualthorientation.tumblr.com): this is the first thing i've written (and finished) in over a year, which is sad, considering how much i love these asgardian disasters. so, please forgive me. i'm rusty. 
> 
> [reyna](http://ladylaufehson.tumblr.com): this is my first ever smut anything, so if y'all have any pointers on how to write better, that would be loved. i have no idea what i wrote so sorry for this mess.


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